As Tom drove his pickup down Island Road, Trefan and Neesy rode in the trailer.
For the acolyte, the trailer was still a new experience, and she peered out of a window set in the wooden door. Another window behind her mirrored the one through which she gazed. She watched the side of the road pass by the window.
She appreciated that their orgate druid had built areas in the teardrop shell that acted as storage and contained built-in tie downs. The smooth joinery and fluid grace of the wooden forms were beautiful, and he was the only person who could have shaped the wood so cleverly. There was even a small cupboard of snacks, like boxed juices and granola bars. She sipped a juice box through a straw.
The straw slurped the declaration of the emptiness that all juice boxes eventually experience, and she realized she was going to have find somewhere to put the empty box. Which was sad, because the juice box was so colorful, and she could think of so many different ways she could use it to decorate her small cell in Gravenar. If only she could somehow transport a juice box through the orgate.
Patunk-patunk-patunk
The rumble of the road beneath became familiar, and it lulled Neesy into a bit of drowsiness. It had been a full day, what with the glide from Gravenar to the orgate, the attack of the blight beast, and the oddly compelling woman in the big truck on the bridge.
She’d seen something pass between Tom and the woman, it had almost shouted in light and meaning between their foreheads.
Typically, the two scholars would be scanning their notes one more time. Trefan seemed completely lost in thought, mulling over the news Tom had passed on that a surveyor would soon be on the island.
He’d said, “That damn mouthpiece said the surveyor was already there, and I think it might be the woman in that shiny truck we saw on the bridge.”
It seemed a clear threat, but the flow of trees and occasional driveways passing by the window was a little hypnotic. She caught herself leaning against the window. She realized she was sleepy, and this made her think of the tired stride of Tom down the Main Street.
She roused herself and turned to Trefan. “Why does Tom tire so easily? It's as if he isn't using his own healing power on himself.”
Trefan closed his own small laptop and responded to his student. “He chooses to allow the infirmities of age to work their way through his body, because he cares not for a life of pain.”
Neesy watched the forest pass outside the trailer. When they left the orgate and Tom’s yurt, their host had planned to take them to the Chester Lake Library, but the encounter with the lawyer had alarmed Tom, and the door druid just wanted to get back to his home and check his camouflage spells, try to figure out a way to keep the surveyor off the island.
A crackle of static came from the old walkie talkie they used to talk with Tom when he was driving. It was in a molded nylon holster nailed to the side of the trailer.
Toms voice came from the low quality speaker. “I did a scan of the island and I cannot sense anyone there this morning. She must have left.”
Trefan responded, “We should probably check the wards anyway.”
“We can do that.” The walkie-talkie went silent again.
She could feel the bouncing of the wheels beneath them, even through the padding of the beanbag chairs they used as seats when they were on the move.
“Is he always in pain from the curse?”
“Oh, yes. When the blight beast wounded him years ago, its tainted essence merged with the flesh of Tom’s body, making his wounds impossible to fully heal. He can use the Great Tree’s gifts to heal the rest of his body, but it does not change the blighted flesh or restore his spine down through his hip and to the end of his leg.”
“What happens if he tries?”
“When he directs his magic to heal, it tries to stitch itself back to the way it was, according to the instructions in the DNA of his body. The Blight Beast’s poison has rewritten Tom’s DNA, and when he restores any wounds, the magic just makes it into what you see, a withered leg, useless genitals and constant pain.”
“So he is still sterile.” Neesy ended. “I’ve read your reports from that time.”
“Of course,” responded Trefan. “You’ve seen the healed skin. It came after the attack and it is the natural state of his body. If he tries to force it otherwise, his own magic rebels and causes him great pain. ”
“So he can't do anything?”
She could feel the trailer turn, and the boards of the bridge rattled as they crossed from the mainland to the island. They were almost back at the door druid’s home. She was still becoming accustomed to spending her time between two places. Yet her cell at Gravenar wasn’t as nice as her room in Tom’s yurt, and she was looking forward to reading the Nora Robert’s novel she’d started the last time she was here.
“He can use his own doorway tree, use the healing magic of the Great Tree, but he cannot fix his broken body. The accident with the Blight Beast from sixty years ago was a disaster for everyone, and perhaps a setback for the Great Tree itself. Tom has the abilities of a door druid, but the damage from the beast means he will never fulfill his destiny. As you know, the raincusi do not commit suicide, and as a part of the Great Tree, he cannot end his own life. His plan is to let the phenomenon of natural decay close his life, so the cycles of the Great Tree can find balance with a new Holy Family, and he can finally escape the pain of his existence.”
“And until he has worked and resolved the debt of his life and duty from the Great Tree, Tom keeps the doorway running, and hosts the scholars that come through.”
The trailer rocked as they came to a stop. She heard Tom exit the little pickup and she looked out the window to watch him open the hidden path to the orgate grove. She caught his grimace of pain as he took a stance beside the road, facing the woods. His sign advertising his marijuana business was nearby.
Without turning from the scene outside the window of the trailer Neesie said, “It just seems like a tragedy to have to exist in constant pain, just waiting for death, especially when he knows other druids are living much, much longer. How does he cope?”
“We are almost to his home, and we should not speak of this to Tom.”
She watched Tom raise his cane, which was in its preferred form of a spiraled stick with a heavy knob of wood at the top. The wind blew, and the trees bowed back, and then back further revealing a narrow drive through the woods.
Tom turned to climb back in the pickup, and the engine revved. The trailer and truck pulled through the forest for a few hundred feet and then the area opened up as they passed under the branches of the Great Tree. With the orgate and the extension of the Great Tree into Earth so close to the road, she realized Tom was right to return and check his defenses.
Neesy promised to keep her questions about the door druid’s condition to herself and her mentor.
Trefan continued “He does what you see, and hopes the Great Tree brings him a replacement druid from the Earth so he can die.”
“Die?”
They pulled up beside the yurt.
“Yes. Before the Great Tree can send a new Holy Family, the last of the existing family must die. He exists as best he can. What would you have him do?”
“I'd find a way around the curse.”
“He's searched for a cure, experimented, finding nothing that works. He continues searching, and the scholars at Gravenar have sent numerous requests to other libraries, some of his questions have traveled for years and quite far in the Great Tree. We've received numerous responses, but none have been a solution.”
“He seems unhappy.” Tom climbed again from his pickup and walked back to the trailer.
“Oh, he's not just unhappy. He is angry. But he's old enough to know that anger is not a solution. He is resigned to his duty to the Great Tree. His call compels him to provide the service he provides, just as it compels we raincusi to operate as the conveyors of the thoughts of the Great Tree. If he ever had the opportunity, he would utterly destroy the blight, and if the Great Tree would give him the choice, he would go off into the woods and stop his own heart.”
The lock on the trailer door rattled as Tom prepared to help them out.
The two raincusi assisted Tom as he checked the wards around the orgate, reinforced the camouflage spells and examined the island-wide illusion the previous door druid had installed soon after hot air balloons arrived in America.
The afternoon wore on, and soon the three knew it was time for bed. They needed to return to the Endless Climb as soon as the orgate had recharged, so they could report to the Abbot in Gravenar of the Blight Beast’s return. That would only happen after the tree and the passengers had all had a sleep period.
They finished their day and went to their beds in the pie-shaped bedrooms of the large yurt.